


Eaten

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, noncon, noncon turns consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1772905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you eat her too?"<br/>"...well, as a matter of fact..." Ives chuckled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eaten

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the title through you off, but there is only passing mentions of Cannibalism in this fic. It concerns another kind of eating, so stick around if you're down for that!

Moira watched the man in black across the fire. And the man in black watched her, tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth.

Famine had passed, but its passing had left the door open for something, some hot liquid ache that sank into her bones even as it swelled within her: _more_ and _more_.

If she hadn’t partaken of the…meat, she knew, she would not be here. Ives was the stronger of them, but he knew she would not go down gently. She kept her mother’s filleting knife in her chemise.

The man in black was watching her. Testing her with his eyes.

He often did that, he had a way of trying people without even speaking, something in his gestures and his demeanor. Janus had asked him if he knew any scouting, and Ives had laughed. Had only moire noticed the edge to it, the savage bite beneath the humor? Perhaps Jones, he had never had a restful moment under Ives’ gaze. Moira and he had exchanged many a look. Too bad he was the first to fall, an accident Ives said, but the axe wound on his shin said otherwise.

Moira pretended to stretch, not looking at the man in black but letting him know she was aware of him. This was her life now, night after night. Sitting across the fire from a madman and a cannibal.

Of course…who was she to talk?

Moira sucked the empty air where her molar had been. Bullshit. She hadn’t partaken with the gusto Ives had shown. No one had. Even when they found they couldn’t stop.

Moira stirred again. Something was pulling taut in her like a wire. It hadn’t been that long since she’d eaten, but she made herself keep to a strict schedule. She only ate enough to keep from falling frail, sorely tempted to eat it all and bash Ives’ brains in with Silas’ musket. Ives was smart enough not to glut himself on the meat either, seeing as he had a ready supply of the stuff standing before him as soon as the store ran out.

Her belly burned, as did other parts of her body. The new craving had not just brought with it dreams of hunger, but carnal things as well. Silas, god rest him, had been a gentle, kind man. He had given her a husband’s love, something completely different from the primal scenes that woke her in the night. They were like some painting on the wall of a cave, more beastly than loving.

Though Moira had laid three tiny crosses at their old home, they had never been blessed with a child. Every month, Silas would tidily arrange himself above her and do his holy duty. The few times he had been lucky in his aiming and grazed some delicate fleshy arrangement at her entrance, Moira had not known what to do. She had never felt pleasure like that before, and it terrified her. Thankfully, Silas often finished before her embarrassment could become known to the world, and he’d kiss her above her right eyebrow and roll off into sleep. She’d wanted nothing more.

But now dreams broke her sleep, the last retreat she had to herself, full of soot-rouged flesh and contortions and cries.

She’d woke to Ives smirking at her across the fire once.

“Good dream?”

She bit her cheek and shook her head fiercely. The bastard snuffled a laugh through his nose.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Now he smirked at her across the fire, as if he knew something, as if…

No.

Moira realized she was grating her thighs together and tried to stop without drawing attention to the motion. Silas had a body like knotted cordwood, he’d spent his life doing back-breaking labor and praying fervently and he’d been a good man, a good Christian to the end. His abdomen would clench and unfurl as he’d thrust mechanically at her nether parts, thrusting dutifully away—

Ives spoke: “you talk in your sleep, Mrs. M.”

Moira wished the heat would drain away from her belly. She didn’t, he couldn’t…

Ives smiled widely at her. Then he made a strange gesture. He parted his middle and ring fingers and flickered his tongue through them. It was unfamiliar, and yet at the same time Moira knew instantly that it was meant to be vulgar.

She bared her teeth. “I fights in my sleep too, ye pussel-gutted bastard.”

Ives laughed as if he had never heard anything quite as funny. The sound was startling in the small space.

“Really now, that’s not befitting a lady.” Ives mused for a second. “Well, neither is dreaming about the things you were…”

Moira flushed. It was horrible, even after all she’d been through, that some small part of her soul felt shame. But here was Ives, fanning it alight as if she were a girl again.

Ives leaned in conspiratorially. “Tell me, your husband; did he…”

Moira sucked in her lower lip over her teeth. She must not strike, moving first would give Ives the advantage.

“I have to admit, I have been enjoying your company thus far,” Ives continued amiably, stirring up the fire with a bayonet, “out of all the travelers of this weary band, you’ve had the gumption to see it through. Quite admirable.”

“I won’t be having sunshine blown up my ass, if that’s what you’re sayin’,” Moira said, “and as for all this un-Christian talk—”

“Madam, please,” Ives chuckled, “you think Christ is down here?”

She let the silence fall heavy. Some traitorous bone in her body agreed with him, that for all their toil and sweat and loss that their final reward had been a resting place in a cannibal’s stomach—

Ives stood. Moira immediately tensed her body, hand slipping to the hilt of her knife. Ives stood before her, hands folded behind his back.

“I think you and I are past the niceties of civilization. Don’t scoff—it’s what’s kept you alive, hasn’t it Maggie? You’ve peeled back the skin of the world and found the rotting guts of mortality.”

She struck first. Idiot. She struck first.

Ives had her hand in his fist and her knife in the ground in a flash. He was fast. Always faster.

He spoke through clenched teeth, breath a hot wind in her face. “So don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.“

She scrambled out with her free hand—another mistake—and he caught that one too, bringing their faces level. She spat through her teeth.

“Don’t flick your serpent’s tongue this way, you've not got anything I haven’t heard before.”

The amused smile crept back to his face. “Really?”

Then she was down and then he was down winding a hand up her skirt and then her knickers were down and then there was his thumb _ohlordJesusMaryandJoseph._

She bucked her hips and gave an inarticulate cry. The switch in her brain had suddenly switched from _fight_ to _fuck_ and all the strength had left her legs. Ives smiled benevolently down at her.

“Bet he never did this, did he?”

 _Of course not,_ she wanted to scream, _he was a good man, a gentle man,_ but she also wanted to move with his hand, let him drive her along the dirt floor with the gentle strokes of his thumb and she bit the ball of _her_ thumb to keep from crying out again. Ives peeled her skirt back even more, soothing her like a spooked horse as he exposed her to the air.

The smell of her own body was ripe, it disgusted her how animalistic it was, like a civet or musk. But Ives, Ives threw his head back and sampled the air with the perversity of a gourmand.

“There we are,” he said. He lowered his head.

Moira was struck with sudden terror. He wouldn't would he? He wasn’t enough monster to bite her in the place only her husband should see.

No, worse.

At the first lick, she arched her back and bellowed. No, God, no, disgusting. immoral, unsanctified, God, Ives, _lower, lower_!

Moira bit her fist. Ives trailed his tongue from the sensitive nub he’d just flicked, down through her folds, then to the place only Silas had ever touched, clumsily, where he swirled his tongue a few times only to flash it up again. Once. Twice. He put his mouth on the bouquet of flesh before him and sucked with light pressure. moira had to restrain herself from clamping her thighs on his head to keep him there. The devil himself was eating her. Her strength was all ebbing out through…her cunt. He was eating her cunt.

A hot shiver ran through her when she thought these words. Cunt. Cunt. A word never brought up in ‘the right company,' a word that should never fall on a proper lady’s ears, yet she knew it all the same and relished it. Reveled in it. She had a cunt. A cunt that was being licked. Ives slipped his tongue into her hole and Moira laughed out loud. She wasn’t sure where the laugh came from, the situation was absurd but not even the slightest bit funny.

Joy, she realized. It was joy.

Her body was an ember now, being stoked by the hot wind of Ives’ mouth. Her legs went up like pitch, her fingers flared up like fuses, her breasts, her belly, her arse, all lit like dry tinder. This was the other side of carnality? So be it.

She blew out all at once, pleading and entreating and leaving a sticky mess on Ives’ beard. Ives himself was sucking down her climax like fine caviar, savoring it. Good God, would eating even that bit of her make him stronger?

Moira sat up and sighed. Well, the rules were different here, weren’t they?

But why should it be that Ives had the advantage?

Moira grabbed Ives through the piecemeal fabric of his trousers.

“Your turn.”

She smiled.


End file.
